No Upper Limit (The Danny Pearson Thriller Series Book 8) by Stephen Taylor

Author:Stephen Taylor [Taylor, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

‘SO WHERE ARE we going?’ Smudge asked Danny.

‘I told you earlier, I want to check this Lansdowne Club out,’ Danny said, heading for Mayfair.

‘Oh right, yeah, and what are we expecting to find there?’

‘I don’t know, Smudge, but the phone number and 11AM written on the back of the business card must mean something. Perhaps Anton Kasovich was a member, in which case somebody might know who he met there.’

‘Sounds reasonable. What kinda club do you think it is?’ said Smudge, pulling his phone out to google it.

‘It’s in Mayfair, Smudge. I don’t think it’s a lap dancing club, mate,’ Danny chuckled.

‘I don’t know, posh twats like a bird spinning around on a pole as much as the next man,’ Smudge said, bringing up the club’s website. ‘Ah, no, it looks like a club for toffs with a stick up their arse.’

‘Not the sort of place a notorious drug dealer in a shell suit would hang out then?’ Danny said, glancing across.

‘No, mate, looks to me like it’s the Oxford and Cambridge boat race lot, politicians and barristers.’

‘Well, it’s the only clue we’ve got, so it’s worth a shot.’

After giving up on finding a car parking space near the Lansdowne Club, they parked in an NCP underground car park a little way away. If you left your car in the wrong place in Mayfair, it’d be on the back of a lorry and on its way to a police pound before the engine got cold. They walked through Berkeley Square and came to the grand but understated front of the club. If it wasn’t for the flag with the emblem of the club and a small plaque outside, you’d never know it was there. They walked through the doors towards the reception desk, instantly getting frowns from the staff at their jeans, trainers and bomber jackets.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ the smart-suited receptionist said, looking down his nose at Danny.

‘Yeah, I’d like to see the manager please,’ Danny said, giving a wide smile.

‘Do you have an appointment, sir?’ the man said, before turning away from them to say, ‘Goodbye sir and madam,’ to a couple of members leaving, dressed in a blur of Armani, Gucci and Louis Vuitton.

When he turned back, Danny had his MI5 ID in his face. ‘The manager, now, please.’

‘Of course, Agent Pearson,’ he said, trying to hide his annoyance as he picked up the phone. ‘Mr Heddon, could you come to reception please? I have some gentlemen from MI5 who would like a word.’

He replaced the receiver and turned back to Danny and Smudge. ‘If you’d like to take a seat, he’ll be down in a minute.’

They’d barely sat down when an immaculately dressed, skinny, middle-aged man approached them.

‘Ralph Heddon, general manager. How can I help you, gentlemen?’

‘Agent Pearson and Agent Smith, MI5. We have reason to believe your club might have been targeted by an extremist group located in the capital. I’d like to look at your CCTV and visitor’s register for the last few days, if I may.

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